The Ends of the World (The Conspiracy of Us #3)(54)

I remembered that night at a bar in Cannes again. You want to be wanted, he'd said. He'd been right. You want control. Right about that, too.

I remembered further back: washing my hands in the sink at Prada. Blood on my hands, the first time of many. "I don't think it matters anymore what I want."

"It's not the only thing that matters, but it'll always matter. It's your life."

Was that really even true anymore? "Would you want to leave if what you wanted was all that mattered? If you didn't have to think about things like safety and duty?"

Stellan thumbed open an air-conditioning vent by his seat. "My father . . ." he said. I tensed. Stories of family were seldom good with this group. "He made the best gingerbread. Families in our neighborhood actually bought it from him around the holidays."

"Gingerbread?" I said incredulously.

"Gingerbread." Stellan settled back, crossing one ankle over the opposite knee. "He did all the cooking and cleaning and sewing, and taught me."

"You sew?"

"What, you don't?" He smirked, but then he turned to look out the window. "That's what I want, eventually. What I used to have with my family. That's what-"

"That's what aches," I said quietly. Toska. The ache. That dull sense that something's missing.

"Yes."

Outside, Jack and Elodie started up the steps. "Gingerbread and sewing," I said. "So what you're telling me is that you want to be somebody's grandma."

"Luc's grandmother carries a tiny dog and a flask of scotch everywhere she goes. I think I could handle that."

Jack and Elodie came down the aisle and settled into seats nearby and told us what they'd just heard. Rocco had found out where Fitz was. It looked like this was actually going to work. Suddenly, I felt nervous again.

As the plane took off, I checked the news. Lots of countries were working to calm the panic, and it was obvious which news outlets were Circle-controlled by the kinds of headlines they had up. Non-Circle outlets weren't interested in being reasonable. The whole Internet seemed to be sharing some article speculating that the virus was actually the result of government testing, a disease that had reacted with GMO foods to become deadly or something like that. It linked to another article about how vaccines were designed to make us susceptible to it, and a million other conspiracy theories, most still not as crazy as the truth.

We thought it might start World War Three if the Circle took sides between us and the Saxons. Turned out the only side being taken was against us, but there was plenty of chaos anyway.

I put my phone away and watched a movie in French with subtitles I didn't actually pay attention to. Jack and Stellan both stared out the windows of the plane. Maybe everyone else was more nervous than I realized, too, because we all jumped when Jack's phone rang halfway through the flight.

Rocco had broken Fitz out. Fitz was on his way to Paris safely.

It was done.

• • •



       
         
       
        

There was no angry Dauphin welcoming party at the airport. No one had noticed the plane missing, Luc said, and we should be fine as long as we disappeared now.

Disappearing was the plan. Fitz had made it to Paris before we did. Someone in the Order owned a boat that did dinner cruises on the Seine, and if we met there, we could be certain no one would see us.

Our cab pulled up at the bridge where the boat was docked. The four of us made our way down the stone steps to the river's edge, which would usually be full of picnickers and joggers and glamorous women smoking cigarettes on their lunch break, but now was eerily quiet.

We found the right boat, and the door at the top of a carpeted gangplank swung open.

I froze in place. Fitz was thin, and his eyes looked sunken behind his glasses, but the smile that lit his face was exactly the same as I remembered.

I hadn't really cried since just after my mom died. I hadn't let myself. But as Fitz came down the ramp and pulled me into a hug, I burst into tears.





CHAPTER 18



The boat was long and thin, with an upper and a lower deck, both set with long strings of dinner tables. For now, we were the only people here. The rest of the Order would meet us shortly.

Elodie found me tissues and water, but I was still sniffling as I hung back and watched Fitz. He and Elodie talked Order business. He hugged Jack and murmured a few things, and Jack glanced at me and smiled.

Then Fitz clapped Stellan on the back and asked about his sister. Stellan was cordial, but I could tell he was still feeling guarded. As glad as I was to see Fitz, I understood. I'd built Fitz up as this mythical faux-grandfather for years. I remembered the last time I'd seen him. Mr. Emerson, our jolly next-door neighbor. He'd helped us pack up our moving van in Boston. And then he'd hugged us good-bye-and for years after that, he was in my life only via postcards, letters, and the occasional phone call. I should have known this person who cared enough to stay in touch all these years wasn't just a random neighbor.